Blue September
by wondertrance
Summary: When a case comes up that seems like a suicide, Chief-of-Police Stan Marsh pays it no mind. Its only thanks to the help of a persistent blonde reporter-duo, and the sudden disappearance of his best friend, that he begins to question the real story behind the crime.
1. Prologue

**MUSTANG KIDS**

 _Zella Day_

"Hm," the police said, looking down at the crumpled body at his feet. About 5'2"-ish, with long, curly blonde hair. At the time of her death, she was wearing a spaghetti strapped red dress, with sequins embedded in the collar. She wore that same dress now, however the collar had been cut out, jewels taken with it, and the dress was spotted with dirt.

"What're we lookin' at? Suicide?" Someone— a news reporter, most likely — asked, and the policeman grunted in response before turning to meet the eyes of many excited reporters.

"Nothing to see here. Clear out." He called, but they were persistent. 'What was her name?' One asked. 'How did she die?' Said another.

'Was she murdered?'

"I said _move_!" He barked, shoving the newsies out before they could drive him crazy. Except for one, with bright green eyes and wild blonde hair.

"Just one question, chief, and then I'm outta your hair." The reporter said, grinning up at the policeman, who scowled in response. "Just one."

"Fine. What is it?" The chief of police gave in with a heavy sigh and an eye roll, causing the reporter to beam in happiness. He took out a dingy looking pad of paper, which seemed to have years of use on it. He flipped to a clean page (or, as clean as it was going to get. There were numerous other notes on it) then set his pen on a blank space, and looked up expectantly.

"What do you think happened?" The reporter asked, and the chief turned back to the dead body sprawled out on the ground, limbs twisted into awkward positions.

"I think she was stupid, and committed suicide." He snorted, turning back with a sneer. "Are we done yet?" He asked, but much to his dismay, the reporter didn't seem phased at his blatant excuse to get him to leave.

"No, no." Said the reporter, actually having the nerve to _push past_ the officer, and stand right up by the body. He crouched down to examine it, leaving the awfully confused officer to gawk at him. There was a moment of silence — spare the sirens, and chatter from photographers and other officers — before the reporter looked up again, a mischievous glint in his green eyes.

"I think, chief, that she was murdered."

The reporter was kicked out then without further question, but he didn't seem to mind. The officer caught a glimpse of his badge — _Kenny McCormick, head of NEWS_ — before he vanished into the streets.

Stan Marsh didn't see him again until three weeks later.

xxx

 **Town's beloved BEBE STEVENS was found dead three weeks ago at 6:30 PM, Monday night. Chief of police Stan Marsh had this to say:**

 **" _It's just another case of suicide. Nothing else has happened here._ "**

 **He closed the case without any further questions asked.**

xxx

The redhead stared at the television screen with a frown, then turned back to the dead body laid out in front of him. Her skin was pale, except for several bruises around her body, and a few cuts on her face. Her once lovely olive toned skin had turned pale, lifeless blue eyes closed. All makeup had been removed since the night of the suicide, and her hair was tied back and out of her face. She looked like a doll.

She looked _dead_.

"You okay, Kyle?" Someone asked, causing the redhead to jump and whip around to face whoever had spoken. A tall man with clean black hair and blue eyes stared back at him, eyebrows raised in question as he walked over. Kyle sighed in relief once he realized who it was, turning back to the dead body.

"Yeah, just... Shaken up, I guess. It's hard to believe Bebe Stevens — Someone we _knew —_ would actually..." He trailed off, a lump forming in his throat.

He didn't have to say anything else about it, because Stan already knew. The ravenette nodded in understanding, walking around the forensics scientist to the end of the table by her feet, eyebrows drawn together in thought.

"I know that it seems strange, but Bebe was severely depressed. I guess she just thought it was her time." He sighed, scrubbing his face with his hand tiredly. Kyle noticed the bags under his eyes now, and the way his jaw slacked. Stan was exhausted. The crime in South Park just never seemed to end.

"Um, let me grab my stuff, and we can head out." Kyle said, snapping Stan out of whatever thoughts he had been having. Blue eyes snapped up to meet his green ones, and Kyle blushed, turning away from the ocean hues to grab his bag by the counter.

Stan stayed silent as he milled around the room, blue eyes never leaving him. Kyle called them 'detective eyes.' Always searching for something. Always on the lookout.

"Dude, stop staring at my ass!" Kyle croaked once turning around, noticing Stan eyes were downcast. Immediately Stan looked up, a large grin forming on his face.

"Was not!" He argued, and Kyle scowled half heartedly, walking over and shoving the chief of police out of the door. Sparing one last look at the body laying on the table, he flicked the lights off and shut the door behind himself, body forgotten.

The job never got easier. Especially when he had to deal with things like this. There wasn't a lot of murders that happened in South Park — usually the worst they had to deal with was a loitering drunk — but when something this heavy did arise, it was always big news. The press was over it for weeks afterwards, even if the case had been closed long before.

Oh, that reminded him— "have you seen Tweek lately?" Kyle asked, shrugging his coat on as Stan and himself walked down the fairly empty hall of the police station. Stan shrugged, nodding hello to an officer who passed by before looking down at Kyle again.

"No. Why?" The ravenette asked, and Kyle shrugged. "He and some rookie reporter were suppose to come by today for questions about the theft." He recited, and Stan nodded beside him, listening intently. 'Detective senses.'

"But I didn't see them. I thought maybe you did." Kyle finished, and the chief shrugged his broad shoulders.

"Nope. But, if they do come around, I'll give you a call."

The two were fairly silent after that, heading out of the station and into the chilly night air. Kyle zipped his coat up to his chin and slipped his hands in his pockets, leaning against the brick wall that was the Police Station.

It was around eleven oclock now, about time for the drunks to come out. He hated this time of night, because no matter what he did— some stupid drunk guy always hit on him.

"Need a ride home?" Stan offered, nodding down the street to where his car was parked. Kyle thought it over, then shook his head with a polite smile. Being alone with Stan was always awkward. They were good friends, sure, and they worked together every day. But they were far gone from where they had been when they were much younger. They were older, and more mature now.

And Kyle was very jealous of Stan's good-looking, rich girlfriend.

"No, thanks. I'm okay. Ike's coming home from college tonight anyway, so moms gonna pick me up." Kyle replied, and Stan nodded in understanding, patting his shoulder as he walked past him.

"Alright. Well, be safe, dude. If that drunk comes around again, just give me a call." Stan offered without turning to look at the redhead, walking down the street with his keys spinning around his finger. Kyle didn't respond, instead nodded and stared ahead at the nearly empty street.

A cold wind picked up, and he shivered, glancing down at his phone. Eleven twenty-two, and no messages from his mother. He huffed and shoved the screen back into his pocket, closing his eyes.

The second he did, he saw the mutilated body of his friend, and his eyes popped out of his head.

Being a forensics scientist, and being exposed to dead bodies on the daily, was taking a toll on him. But he wouldn't give it up for the world. If they couldn't be put to rest in life, then he'd let them be put to rest in death.

He just wished that it were true.


	2. ONE

**CHAPTER ONE**

 _All Hail Tomorrow_

"Stan..."

The noirette marched through the hall, scowling down at his shoes. Behind him was a short blonde man, a long scar marking down his face and over his bright blue eyes. The man had to jog in order to keep up with Stan's long strides, the latter of the two scowling in distaste as he walked ahead. "Stan," the man tried again, watching the chief of police turn and open an unmarked door and head inside. He didn't leave the door open, and the blonde man had to stop in order to catch the door so it didn't smack him in the face.

"Stan! Sir! I need to talk to you, please!" The man barked, marching around a filing cabinet to glare at the noirette, who hardly glanced up at him.

"What do you want, Butters." Stan hissed. It wasn't really a question; more of a statement for the man to get it over with as soon as possible. The man — Butters — sighed in relief when he was acknowledged, shoving his hands into his pants pockets awkwardly.

"There's someone here to see you." Butters replied, biting his lower lip. Stan grunted in response, leaning over his desk to rummage through a random drawer. Butters was afraid Stan hadn't heard him, and was about to say it again, before Stan turned around so suddenly Butters jumped in surprise. The chief of polices' eyes were narrowed at him, and his added height — almost a foot taller than Butters himself — radiated authority. Butters gulped.

"Who is it, and what do they want?" Stan asked, not bothering to wait for Butters to answer as he pushed past him, holding a file in his hands. Butters paused, then raced after him.

"Says he's from the News, s-sir. And that he was there on the night of Bebe Steven's suicide." Butters began, twiddling his fingers nervously. He knew how sensitive Stan was on the subject of suicide, and Bebe's falling out. He was proved correct when Stan stopped walking to glare at him.

"Don't waste my time, Butters." Was all he said.

Butters yelped, afraid he was going to lose Stan. So he raced after him, coming up to stand beside the chief of police as he stood outside of a door labeled 'forensics.' "Really, sir. I think you should talk to him. He's being crazy." Butters worried, and Stan grunted again, then knocked on the door. "Really. He's saying—"

"Hey, Stan! Hey Butters." Another voice called, and Butters jumped, turning to look at the redhead who had opened the door. Stan's moody attitude seemed to melt away all of a sudden, and a soft grin found its way onto his slightly chapped lips.

"Hey Kyle. I was going to ask you if they caught that drunk trying to steal from ladies?" Stan asked, and Kyle nodded happily, stepping outside of the dimly lit room and into the hallway. Stan nodded back, then turned to glare down at Butters. "Do you need something?"

The blonde looked between Stan and Kyle, then sighed loudly. "There's a journalist here for you, sir. Says he wants to ask a few questions." Butters repeated, noticing Kyle's eyebrows rise in interest. Stan mumbled something under his breath, then pinched the bridge of his nose in agitation. There was a moment of silence, and then Stan dropped his hands to scowl at Butters.

"Fine. Send him into my office. I'll be there in a second."

Butters nodded once, then turned on his heel and down the hallway in silence. There wasn't many policemen on the force anymore. But the ones that did work to keep South Park a safer place always meant business. Butters was a rookie cop, assigned under Stan Marsh. It was unfortunate that Stan seemed to seriously hate him, and treated him more like an intern and a kid than a fellow cop.

 _Well, no matter._ Butters thought as he turned into the main lobby of the building. _I'll show him one day._

There was one desk in the lobby, and a few chairs. Two cells sat in the background, a few hobos and drunks spending the night there sometimes. There were five people in the lobby besides himself. A woman — a wife, most likely. Probably here to pick up her drunk-off-his-ass husband — and her two kids, who clung to her each of her legs.

Butters felt a pang of sympathy for the children. They looked so scared, and the woman seemed so upset and unhappy. He remembered when his mother and him visited this very police station as a kid to pick up his father, who had been sent away for child abuse. He shivered at the thought, and pushed it back into the far corner of his mind.

Besides the family, there were two others. Two blondes sat, side-by-side on the uncomfortable chairs. One wore a dark green jacket with the hood up, holding a coffee cup in his hand. Butters noticed that he was shaking slightly. Beside him, was a lanky man with wild, unkempt hair that fell in his face and covered up his eyes, mostly. He was wearing a dingy looking orange sweater, and was bouncing his knee up and down. Both had a bag sitting by their legs.

When the one wearing orange glanced up and noticed Butters, he grinned, and nudged the man beside him, who jumped nearly out of his skin. "Whoa, sorry." The orange one apologized, then grabbed his bag and stood up, shrugging it on over his shoulder and walking over to Butters, who crossed his arms.

"We're here to see the chief of police." He began, and Butters frowned.

"ID?"

The man paused, like he was surprised at the question, then chuckled softly to himself and dug around his bag, pulling out a laminated ID. Kenny McCormick, head of South Park NEWS, it read. Butters looked over it, then nodded once he deemed it legit. "And this is my associate, Tweek." Kenny added, nodding over his shoulder towards the twitching man behind him, who's head was bowed. He seemed to be talking to himself.

"He seems mental." Butters grumped, looking Kenny up and down. The blonde grinned, like he had expected Butters to say that.

"Yeah. He's a little..." Kenny pursed his lip, then pointed to his head and made little circles. _Loopy._ He mouthed, and Butters bit his lower lip.

"Alright. Well, Mr. Marsh allowed for a brief meeting. But keep it quick." Butters nodded, then turned and began walking away. He paused only when he noticed Kenny wasn't following him, and turned to look back.

He was knelt down beside Tweek, who was shaking so badly now that his coffee was spilling over the sides of his cup. Kenny had his hand on his knee, and was whispering something inaudible to him. But whatever he said must have been comforting, because suddenly the twitching came to a pause, and Tweek raised his head to look at Kenny. They shared a few words, and then eventually they both nodded in some sort of agreement. As Tweek stood up, Kenny grabbed the others bag, and swung it over his own shoulder alongside his own bag. The two took a minute to catch up to Butters, who decided not to say anything about the incident.

The walk wasn't a long one — the building was fairly small — but it felt like an eternity to Butters. The way Kenny kept stalling to wait for Tweek, who kept freaking out every time he saw a cop walk by. It was an awful effort that he could hardly stand, but he did, until eventually he was at Mr. Marsh's.

Letting out a stream of air through his nose, Butters knocked twice on the door, and waited in silence, spare the soft "GAHS" Tweek murmured under his breath every few seconds.

Just when it was starting to get irritating, Stan opened the door, lips pursed in obvious annoyance. Butters shrank away from the chief of police, who was glaring directly at him. "Here they are, sir..." He mumbled, nodding towards the two other blondes. For a moment, he couldn't even hear Tweek's random babbling-

"A-Ah! Kenny! T-Too much pressure!"

Never mind.

Stan's frowned deepened, and he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. He watched as Kenny basically had to tackle Tweek to get him to calm down, the twitching man squirming like a toddler throwing a tantrum. Butters chuckled nervously, and turned to the two reporters. "Here they ARE, SIR." He yelled, and instantly Kenny snapped his head around to meet Stan's gaze.

Stan didn't look impressed.

"Oh." Kenny said, dropping his hold on Tweek — who fell to the ground and started rolling around — and walking over to Stan, stretching his hand out to shake. Stan paused, then grunted and met his gaze, shaking his hand once before dropping it. "Sorry to bother you, man— I mean, uh, sir — But my associate and I—" he glanced down at Tweek, grinned nervously, then looked back up "— wanted to ask you a few questions about... Ms. Steven's suicide case."

Stan noticed the way Kenny's eyebrows furrowed at the mention of Bebe's suicide, and he grunted again, then leaned over Kenny's shoulder to look at Tweek, who was still holding himself against the floor. "And... This is your associate." Stan grumped, glaring at Kenny. Kenny nodded happily, backing up a bit and kicking Tweek, who yelped and shot up to stand beside him.

"Yessir. This is Tweek. He's..." He frowned, "a little... Out of it. But on the job, he's real good. I swear by it." Kenny nodded, giving Stan a silly solute, the latter having to force himself not to roll his eyes.

His blue-eyes met Tweek's green ones, then looked over his teared jacket, worn boots, the way he couldn't stop shaking...

"If you want to talk, he stays outside." Stan ordered, then turned around and walked back into his office, leaving Kenny staring at his back, wide-eyed.

Before he could shut the door, Kenny slammed his hand onto the wood, stopping Stan from shutting him out. "Hey!" He barked, Stan turning slowly to glare at him. "No deal, man. We're a duo. If we're gonna talk, he comes with. You hear me?" Kenny ordered, voice raising an octave to get his point across. Stan stared, silent.

No one ordered Stan around.

Butters yelped, shrinking away. Kenny and Stan were glaring daggers at the other, and if you squinted, you could see the sparks between their eyes from how hard they were staring. Behind him, Tweek tugged at Kenny's coattail. "It's okay, Ken... I can stay out here." He mumbled, and Kenny snorted.

Without turning to look back at Tweek, he stood straighter and crossed his arms. "This is your case. I'm not letting this _jackass_ tell me who and who can't get the information they need. You get that, big guy? Either let both of us in, or we're not gonna leave you alone. Ever."

Stan looked over Kenny's expression. Butters was about to cut in, but then suddenly Stan turned and nodded. "Fine." Was all he said, and Butters blinked in surprise.

Kenny seemed surprised too, but grinned happily and grabbed Tweek's arm, dragging him into the office and closing the door, Butters still shocked.

 _Who was this guy?_


	3. TWO

**CHAPER TWO**

 _Detective Eyes_

* * *

Stan had never been a huge fan of blondes.

It's not like he was against them, or anything - that wasn't his style - he just realized that almost every blonde he ever met was just so... Blonde.

At least, that's what he was thinking right now, as he stared at the two sitting in front of him. They both looked pretty awkward, one bouncing his leg and tapping his knee with his fingertips, while the second one was bouncing... Everywhere. A few times, Stan thought he would even fall out of his seat every time he twitched, or murmured something under his breath. But everytime he stayed put, firmly in his seat.

He was almost impressed.

The three of them sat in silence for a solid ten minutes, at least. It gave Stan a good amount of time to observe the two. The first one, Kenny McCormick, seemed much too cocky to actually be a news reporter. Despite looking a little nervous, he had a smirk plastered on his face, and posture that just screamed smug ( shoulders black, legs crossed, arms limp on his leg or by his side. ) Stan grit his teeth at the sight. Anyone who let their arrogance get in the way of their job made his blood boil. It was unprofessional.

The second one, Tweek Tweak, was strange. No, that wasn't the word for it- batshit _crazy._ He kept glancing out the window, or digging his nails into his palms, or pulling at his hair, or twitching and cursing under his breath. It was rather annoying, and Stan wanted to yell at him to stop. But somewhere in the back of his mind told him that even if he did, he wouldn't stop. He seemed almost as definat as Kenny.

But in a quiet way, ironically enough.

Stan sighed and leaned back in his chair, scrubbing his hand down his face in defeat. "You win, McCormick." He mumbled - almost growled - and rolled his head back, popping it a little. He didn't have to even look at the first blonde to know that his smirk at widened.

"'s 'at so?" Kenny slurred, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward against Stan's desk, placing his elbows gingerly on it. However the second Stan glared at him, he backed off. But his smile never faultered. "Okay then. Tell me what I won, big man."

"Why are you here?" Stan snapped, venom dripping from his voice. Kenny didn't seem phased, instead leaning over and nudging Tweek, who actually screamed. Kenny didn't seem phased by that, either, and leaned down to whisper something in his ear. After a moment Tweek calmed down, and glanced over at Stan nervously. The latter watched as he brought his hands together and twiddled his thumbs, biting down on his lower lip. _He's nervous._ Stan thought smugly. _Good._

There was a moment of silence, and then Tweek cleared his throat. "I-I w-w-want to t-talk to you... A-About, um - GAH! PREASSURE! - um, M-Miss... S-S-Steven's mu- suicide." He began, flinching every time he stuttered. He bowed his head so he couldn't meet Stan's eyes, now digging his thumbnails into his knuckles.

"That case was closed three weeks ago, Mr. Tweak. I hope you know that." Stan said, slowly, as if he was afraid to scare Tweek off. Like he was a scared animal. It was the voice a mother would use to scold her child.

Tweek must have heard that tone of voice a lot, because he didn't seem affected. However, Kenny frowned, looking between Tweek and Stan, until his blue eyes finally fell on Stan's ocean hued ones.

"Don't treat him like a child. We know the case was closed. That's why we're here. Because it _shouldn't_ have been. I mean- you knew Bebe well. You should know she wouldn't have jumped off a building!" Kenny said, suddenly standing up and smacking his hand onto Stan's desk. His eyes had gone notciably darker, and beside him, Tweek yelped and curled up into himself.

Stan stared back at Kenny, anger boiling inside of him. He stood up too, leaning close to Kenny's face. "She was doped up on drugs and alcohol and God knows what else. She was depressed. She wanted to die. That's what happens when you're the _whore of South Park_!"

Stan's words echoed throughout the small room. Even Tweek had stopped twitching and saying things. The office was dead silent, two of the men staring down at each other.

"Do you know what I think, Stan?" Kenny mumbled, inching closer to Stan's face. Stan scowled, but said nothing. "I think you're too afraid to tell your pretty little girlfriend, and your cutesy redhead, that your side bitch-"

"Don't you fucking dare."

"- didn't kill herself. And I think you dont want to tell them, not just because you saw her every Friday night at the same bar your girlfriend works at, but because you don't even love her. Not like you say you do. Isn't that right, Stanley? You see a pretty little blonde thing, decide to play around, days turn to weeks. Weeks turn to months. Months turns to a whole year."

Kenny's smirk had dropped, replaced with a serious expression. Stan could feel his breathing grow heavier. Could feel the way his hands shook on the table. "Until finally, little miss sunshine says no. I mean, you are dating her best friend after all. So you leave her. You call her a whore, probably smack her, and leave. Then a week later, she turns up dead. So it has to be a suicide, right?" He leaned in closer, so close their noses touched. "But you know better. Because Bebe was glad you left. Bebe didn't want to whore around with you anyway. She was too good, isn't that right? So good that _she_ declined _you._ Harsh, huh?"

Kenny suddenly leaned back, grabbing his and Tweek's bag off of the floor, and taking the other mans shoulder and hoisting him up. Stan stared in silence, jaw slack, as the two men made their way to the door in silence. Kenny opened it and basically threw Tweek out, then turned back to Stan, expression dark, and all-knowing.

"So that spares the question, sir - who killed Bebe Stevens?"

Then he shut the door, and was gone.

* * *

 _She walked down the back alley way, small box in hand. Her favorite dress - a blue button down with frilly sleeves - felt good on her tonight. Professional. She liked the feeling._

 _"Professional." She said, testing the word. She said it a few more times, then smiled to herself, deciding she liked it. Yes. It has been a long time since she had felt that feeling. Feeling like everything would be okay again._

 _Taking her phone out from her purse, she quickly sent a text to her friend; ' sorry running late, got wine. rip, sorry about loss. :( c u soon. '_

 _Placing it back into her pocket, she straightened her back and walked faster, listening the sound of her heels clicking on the ground. It was quiet out, the sunset in the background. It was about the time the drunks came out. Just an hour until the street would be swarmed with them, like zombies. She snorted at the thought as she exited the alleyway._

 _Suddenly she felt her phone ding, and glanced down. It wasn't a reply, instead a new number. Just seeing the contact made her stomach feel queasy, and she stopped walking to read it, even though she already knew what it was._

 _' My place. Now. '_

 _Tears welled up in her eyes, and she clucthed the box she was holding close to her chest. Just one night. Just one night, she wanted to see her friend, and help her mourn the loss of her parents. One night she wanted to be real. To be a human._

 _To be professional._

 _But instead, all she replied back with was ' k. ' then turned around and walked to his place._

 _The feeling of being professional left the second she unbottoned her dress._

* * *

Stan hadn't sat down since Kenny left, which had been roughly an hour or so ago. Instead he stood, staring at the place the blonde had sat, where he had accused him of cheating on Wendy. Fresh anger rolled in his stomach, making him feel almost sick. The thought of having sex with Bebe, _ever_ , his girlfriends _best friend_ , made him want to throw his guts up.

Sure, Bebe had been beautiful. And when they were in high school together, he had sure as hell given it a thought. But he _never_ would have done anything. Much less hurt her. He had been good friends with Bebe. Calling her a whore had been a slip off the tongue- the instant he said it had made him feel ugly and gross. Bebe slept around sometimes, but she was smart. She wasn't a whore.

The sound of the door opening made him jump in surprise, and he stared at the blonde walking into the office. For a moment, he almost thought it was Kenny- but instead it was Butters, shuffling in with a cup of coffee in hand. "Um, here you are, sir." Butters mumbled, bottom lip shaking a little as he stood in the doorway. Stan sighed loudly and nodded for Butters to come in.

The blonde scurried over and quickly placed the cup on Stan's desk, watching as the ravenette walked to the window and stared out of it for a moment. The sun was setting down. Almost an hour before all the drunks would come out.

"S-Sorry for askin', but, um, what did they want? S-Sir?" Butters asked, inching closer to look at Stan's expression, which turned sour the second Butters even mentioned it.

"Hey, Butters..." Stan said suddenly, causing Butters to almost jump. He hadn't ever really used his name, just simply called him 'kid,' or, 'hey you.' It was a surprise to hear him say it so easily now. To be honest, Butters wasn't even sure Stan had known his name up until this point.

"Yes sir?" He asked, tilting his head to the side. Slowly, Stan turned, looking at Butters with an odd expression. He looked tired, but suddenly... Determined.

"Can you bring me Bebe Stevens' file? Please?" He asked, and that surprised Butters even more. He always ordered him around. He never asked, much less adding 'please' to the end. Man- Kenny must've sure stuck it to him.

"Of course, sir. But... I thought the case was closed?" Butters said, taking a quick sip of his own coffee. Stan nodded dismissively, then stared outside the window, towards South Park. Through his window, he could see the alleyway in which Bebe had been found in. He could almost still see the blood on the sidewalk.

He shivered, then straightened and walked away from the window, back to his desk. He picked his coffee up and took a big sip, then set it down and nodded at Butters.

"Have you heard of Batman? And one of his villains? The Riddler?" Stan asked suddenly, and Butters thought about it for a moment before nodding, so Stan went on. "Good. Then riddle me this."

Stan's expression turned cold. "Who would want to kill Bebe?"

* * *

 **2 HOURS LATER**

It was dark now. Time for Kyle to head home.

The redhead sighed at the thought, walking to Stan's office to say goodbye. However he noticed the door closed, and the light off, and turned away. Stan must have left already. He had heard that reporter storm out of there like there had been no tomorrow, someone yelling at him the whole way he left. Which means Stan probably provoked them somehow.

Stan wasn't very good with people. He was always too suspicous. He hardly trusted anyone. Hell, sometimes he didn't even trust Kyle. The thought made the forensics scientist frown, as he walked out of the building and into the cool night air.

The only person Stan trusted more than anything was his girlfriend, Wendy Testaburger. Kyle didn't blame him- she was pretty, smart, funny, the whole package. Plus, they had been dating long before Kyle ever knew Stan. So that gave her more advantage, too. It made his skin prick with jealously, and he shoved his hands into his pockets to block it out.

What did Wendy have that he didn't?

Scuffing his shoe against the ground, Kyle walked to his house in silence, the only sound being the occasional car passing by. Kyle sighed, letting his thoughts trail off as he turned to walk down the alleyway that lead to his house. It was dark, since there were no lights back here, and Kyle gulped, picking up his pace to make it through as fast as possible. He hated this alley. Especially since Bebe died here.

Bebe. His heart sunk at the thought. She was so kind to everyone. So sweet. Why did the good ones always have to die?

"Good question." He heard someone say, and whipped around, only to be met with darkness. He felt his pulse quicken.

"W-Who's there?" He asked, taking a step back.

"Oh, youre so silly." The person said again, and then suddenly someone grabbed his wrists and covered his mouth and eyes with frabic. Kyle could feel the person lean in and whisper into his ear, voice deep and sultry;

"The real question is- who's to die next?"

Kyle screamed, and then there was quiet.

* * *

 **Hey guys! Sorry this chapter skips pov's so fast.**

 **I just wanted to get a feel for everyone, you know?  
**

 **Also, rip. Cliffhanger. Sorry.**

 **I'm also sorry for slow updates.**

 **I've been having writers block lately,**

 **but it will pass. Anyway, thanks for reading,**

 **and stay wonderful!**

 **\- wonder**


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